This is a song about "Resort"

Who resort to wearing some little sweater jackets

Because your booty mad thick behind them juicy ass lips

I'll be the underline i'm-trynna get beside you like the number 9, dime

And even though shit's trife at times, never resort to life of crime,

Might want to purchase some game, homey your shit is so wack

And probably i'll resort to doin' shit for cash like breaking bad,

But whenever there's pain, that feeling forever remains

So your last resort is to eat off other niggas plates/

From vespucci beach, then i might resort to felony

Got me counting my blessings, it took me a-d to see

Keep your mouth close, you fucking with a dope boy

On guitars no codeine in this resort we destroy

I'm crazy as a ouija board, at a vacated beach resort,

No crucifix chains, i’m ain’t sure if i’m forgiven, lord

And if they resort to mix-tapes, my feats'll beat 'em per cassette

The king of comedy heard everythin' that you said